


Our Gerard

by FrogFacey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, M/M, fake tma fan smh, it's 2000+ words of Jon and Martin and Gerry having a nice day because they deserve it, jon just works in photo restoration, jon was in a college band au but not the mechs bc I've never listened to them, no archives, trad goth Gerry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24018409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrogFacey/pseuds/FrogFacey
Summary: Martin startled and pressed the back of his hand to his lips and seemed to be surprised when it came back with a faint grey stain “He said it wouldn’t get anywhere.”“He always does.” Jon shook his head and sat down heavily next to him, wrapping a tired arm around his shoulders.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 170





	Our Gerard

The afternoon had a routine. It was Martin that did it, really, he had the sort of domestic energy that drew everyone in.

The afternoons, in their case, included everyone coming home with aching bones and piling on the couch to watch… Something. It depended on the day usually.

It wasn’t that much of a _routine_ so to speak. There wasn’t much routine to be had when it was just a one-step process but the idea of it was nice.

After taking his shoes off by the door and chucking his keys into the little bowl on the table, Jon found Martin sitting curled up on the couch with a book resting on his knee and a particular black smudge on his neck. The immediate fondness he took as he rolled his eyes and sighed “Our Gerard.” caught him off guard.

Martin startled and pressed the back of his hand to his lips and seemed to be surprised when it came back with a faint grey stain “He said it wouldn’t get anywhere.”

“He always does.” Jon shook his head and sat down heavily next to him, wrapping a tired arm around his shoulders.

“How was your day?” Martin asked, curling a hand into his hair and undoing the ponytail he’d stuffed it into absentmindedly.

“Long,” he sighed leaning against his shoulder “As interesting as digging through boxes of archived photographs can be, really.”

Martin hummed and Jon wasn’t entirely sure if he understood or if he was very good at being empathetic. Whichever it was, he didn’t mind. Martin was usually busy doing admin most days so he couldn’t bother him with his complaints about the dust during work hours.

“Gerry’s off to get food,” Martin mumbled, rubbing his mouth again. Jon made a half-asleep decision not to tell him about the mark on his neck, Gerry would get a kick out of it.

It was an interesting dynamic they had between the three of them. Jon and Gerry had known each other longer but Martin and Jon had been together long before Gerry had joined. It was the strange sense of history they shared, only amplified when Jon had come home late one night to find the two of them curled up asleep together on the couch and the only thing he could think of saying was, “About time.”

He was glad they’d managed to get to this point, with the amount of stress it took. It was mostly on Jon’s part. Martin was too kind to him, really and Gerry was far too patient with his bullshit.

He guessed he’d been putting up with it too long to stop now.

Jon was reminded absently of uni bands and loud bars and people yelling and falling onto each other in drunk messes.

Gerry and Jon had been friends in the way those blossoming friendships sometimes are, toeing the line between friends and something more. Though none of them were confident enough in it to do anything about it. Jon pinned it to the fact that both of them were drastically lacking in the genuine affection department. 

He was distantly aware that they’d made out once, drunk on the floor of his grandmother’s kitchen while a party happened unaware around them. All he could remember was the dig of an old cat fridge magnet into his spine and Gerry’s fingers against his throat and the fact that neither of them talked about it the next day.

And they sort of stopped talking in general, Jon moving further up the academic chain and Gerry dropping out and moving away and presumably getting in more trouble.

That was until Gerry came down into the basement of his archives with a box of his dad’s old stuff, rambling about some ‘Gertrude’ not really paying attention to anything around him.

They’d made eye contact and Jon noted, somewhere in his subconscious, that he seemed far less sharp than he had in university.

“Sims,” Gerry said, grinning at him with that testing look he got every time they met.

“Keay,” Jon replied because that was their game. They’d known each other since their bands had their silly little rivalry and they’d played up the nemesis role only for themselves.

“It’s Delano, actually,” Gerry said and his dangerous grin broke into something much more genuine like he was still getting used to the idea of saying it.

“ _Finally_.”

And then whatever cloud of awkwardness fell away and they were back into _routine_.

“How did you get even more goth?” mingled with “You dress like a grandpa now” and then there they were, two friends since they were gross sweaty teenagers with issues.

Except now instead of toeing around half baked relationships, Jon was toeing around how exactly he could broach the topic of his boyfriend and the possibility that he wasn’t opposed to more midnight kitchen makeouts. In a way that was probably a lot more put together than that.

And Martin, bless his soul, helped. He was his rock, his anchor even before they’d fallen into a relationship. He felt guilty that he couldn’t remember when the line had been crossed and they’d stopped being close friends who depended on each other for their daily dose of emotional stability and they’d become boyfriends. One moment Jon was rolling his eyes at Martin’s admittedly endearing blundering and the next he was running his fingers up his arm and smiling at the pictures of assorted animals he was being shown over an ice cream date. It relieved him when Martin shuffled into the lounge room one morning, sheepishly asking “Uh… Jon? When exactly is our anniversary?”

He’d patted his shoulders and combed his hair while Jon groaned about the cute alternative guy that had just _decided_ to wander back into his life cluelessly. His damn piercings and tattoos and Siouxsie Sioux eyeliner.

“You should ask him on a date,” Martin said while pressing a mug into his hands, “If you don’t, I will.”

And damn him, it had worked. They’d sat at a cafe and Gerry had explained some painting he was working on and Jon had talked about what chemicals ruined polaroids and old film photographs and they both lapsed into such a sweet sense of normality. Something they both needed.

And eventually, he’d rubbed off on Martin too.

Part of him was curious about what he was to Martin. Without the strange uni emotional fling, what about this weird spindly guy with terrible hair and the pointy Beetlejuice fringe meant the world to him? Was it that despite how scary he seemed, he was kind and soft-spoken, never sounding condescending in his explanations? Or just the gentle air of understanding, holding his hand through a phone call with his mother?

Whatever it was, despite his better judgement it seemed they had both fallen heavily for the creepy goth with a heart too big for his chest and an affinity for playing metal too loud on weekends.

The jingling of house keys clued them in that Gerry was home. Jon cracked an eye open, noting that somewhere in his dozing Martin had taken his glasses off for him.

Gerry opened the door and spent a moment untying his boots before leaning over the couch to press a kiss to Martin’s temple and dump a plastic bag of take-away on their coffee table.

Jon reached the arm not currently in use up to tangle into his hair and he snorted, “Thought you were asleep.”

“Almost,” Jon stretched, “What’s for dinner?”

“Chinese. From that place down the road.”

Gerry pried himself away from the two of them, sitting on the couch and pressing against Jon’s side. He handed Martin his postcard, the placeholder bookmark he was using until he found his office nick nacks in a packed box somewhere. 

It took Jon a moment before he sat up, leaving a kiss next to the lipstick smudge Gerry still hadn’t noticed.

They ate in comfortable silence, whatever sound they needed was filled in by a rerun of Antiques Roadshow one of them put on in the background.

It was so incredibly domestic. Jon found himself smiling into his box of chicken, stuffing his mouth to keep him from getting sentimental. Even if he wouldn’t voice those thoughts to a soul.

He was distracted, for a moment, by Gerry pinching the spring rolls out of their little bag. They left it by the corner of the table to cool down but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Dear,” Martin said, only a little concerned as he dragged his gaze over to him “Don’t burn yourself, please.”

“I won’t.” Gerry rolled his eyes, dunking his still hot spring roll into the sauce.

Jon had seen him do similar things before, grabbing chunks of meat out of the pan to snack on like the gremlin he was, rescuing pencils from the radiator the few times he visited him at work, extinguishing candles with his bare hands (much to the amazement of Martin’s younger cousins).

“You’re ridiculous,” Jon sighed, stealing a spring roll off his plate.

“If you had this superpower, you would too.” he fixed them both with a look.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d call you a pyromaniac.” Jon rolled his eyes, flicking the hand Gerry was currently using to eat “It’s not a superpower if it’s your own fault.”

“I think you’ll find you were just as much responsible for this as I was,” Gerry grinned back at him “I recall dares.”

“I… Excuse me?” Martin blinked at the two of them. There it was again, _history_.

“Asbestos hands,” Gerry snarked.

“There was a bonfire,” Jon explained before Gerry could chime in with something to incriminate him, “He thought it would be a good idea to dunk his hands into some ashes just to see what happened.”

“ _That_ and the fire setting,” Gerry nodded, in a very exaggerated solemn tone.

That was different though, the last little melancholic Fuck You to his mother “You have no self-preservation.”

“Coming from you,” Martin scoffed.

Jon glared at him, disappointed in his sudden betrayal. He smiled sheepishly.

“He has a point you know,” Gerry reached over and ruffled Martin’s hair and Martin, the sap he was, leaned into it.

Jon was aware, “His point being-”

“-My point being you work yourself too hard,” Martin sighed, though not sounding disappointed in him exactly “You were dead to the world on my shoulder for an hour.”

“You could have moved me,” Jon sputtered, successfully incriminated.

“You sleep too lightly for that,” Gerry sighed, settling more into his side now that he’d finished what he was eating “You wake up whenever one of us twitches.”

“In my defence, you twitch a lot in your sleep.”

Gerry chuckled and shook his head, mostly to himself, and beckoned Martin to rejoin the pretzel he was making.

He did just that, Jon ending up tangled in a mess of limbs using Martin’s chest as a pillow, rather than his shoulder (a much comfier decision on his part) with Gerry’s arms looped around his waist and his legs hooked over his thighs. He was warm under the comforting weight of the two of them, arguably one of the best elements of having two partners was never having to invest in a weighted blanket.

He vaguely registered Martin running his fingers through his hair and Gerry humming into his shoulder.

“No falling asleep before we can clean up,” Martin punctuated this with a gentle tug, making sure he was conscious enough to absorb what he was saying.

“Working on it,” Jon mumbled into his jumper.

They stayed like that for a moment, sitting quietly and lazily in a pile of limbs.

“Martin?” Gerry looked up after a moment, running a sleepy hand down Martin’s neck.

He hummed, opening an eye to look down at him, moving his cheek from the top of Jon’s head.

Gerry smiled and stilled his fingers near the collar of his jumper “Is that my lipstick?”

Jon’s head was jostled suddenly as Martin flailed, “You said it wouldn’t get anywhere!”

**Author's Note:**

> I saw someone on tumblr say that Gerry would probably look like Noel Fielding and now I can't stop fucking thinking about it


End file.
